


the only thing i've loved is nothing at all

by anacolutha



Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Character Study, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, non-graphic depiction of sexual assault and murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacolutha/pseuds/anacolutha
Summary: The life and times of Gordon Katsumoto.





	the only thing i've loved is nothing at all

**Author's Note:**

> I binged the entire first season of this reboot in like two days, and apparently all it takes for me to come out of fanfic hibernation is a rarepair that gives me feelings. Title from Fernando Pessoa's The Book of Disquiet.

   
Gordon Katsumoto has always been a quiet, pragmatic man. He appreciates order – the inevitable progression of things along a safe, predictable path. Graduate high school, enroll in the academy, serve for five years, sit your exam. Meet a woman, get married, have a son, gradually fall out of love, get divorced. Nothing in his life has ever been anything other than quiet precision, tight control. There’s even a rhyme and a reason to most homicides he works, predictable paths of motive and murder.

**

“You’re going to fucking hate him,” Tanaka says, leaning back in his chair and stroking his chin. There’s a wry twist to his lips.

“Really? I think we’ll get on like a house on fire,” Gordon answers, smoothing a hand down the front of his jacket. He’s playing it cool.

“No, really, the man’s a fucking menace, but he does get the job done. Eventually,” Tanaka snorts and turns back to his computer. “Anyway, that’s all I had to tell you, so good luck.”

Gordon leaves Tanaka’s office to head to the hospital. The hum of his completely ordinary car is a welcome distraction while he contemplates this whole Magnum thing. He can’t see how he’s supposed to get along with a private investigator of all things, but it can’t be that bad. Right?

 **

Gordon steps out of the elevator, on his way to talk to the husband-to-be waiting for his fiancée to wake up, when he glances up and sees him. There’s a sudden, tight throb right behind his breastbone – like his heart is turning over and settling into a new rhythm. ~~( _Oh. There you are._ )~~ He chalks it up to the third cup of coffee he had on the way to the hospital and hopes it doesn’t show on his face.

Thomas Magnum looks the same as he did in the picture Tanaka had showed Gordon. ( _My favorite pain in the ass except not really_ , Tanaka had said. _You’ll need to know what you’re up against._ ) There’s a light air of mischief to the curl of Magnum’s lips, a languid flick of eyes across Gordon’s face as Magnum steps closer. His hands sketch through the air, fingertips touching his mouth. Sarcasm, wit, irreverence. All things that Gordon intensely dislikes.

He hopes that their initial meeting will be their last.

**

That first case they, more or less inadvertently, work together sets the course of their relationship. Gordon both does and doesn’t appreciate the disruption of his old routines and the creation of new ones. He notices, much to his irritation, how eager he slowly becomes to answer the phone whenever Magnum calls.

Magnum flits in and out of his measured, ordinary life, equal parts snarky zingers and gaudy Hawaiian shirts, but there is something else hidden behind his eyes. There is a tired set to his shoulders sometimes when he thinks no one else is watching, but Gordon is a homicide detective and, as such, he always is. At some point, the desire to lay his hand on the back of Magnum’s neck in reassurance, to give him a point of focus to quell the endless, restless movement of his body, finds its way under Gordon’s skin, itches at his fingertips.

He silently savors every small touch, the way in which Magnum will sometimes lean in close, bat his eyes, and plead so nicely to try to convince Gordon to do something Gordon has already decided he will do. So, too, does Gordon enjoy the beers and the stilted camaraderie he tries his best to foster with Magnum and his equally irreverent friends, quietly and increasingly becoming terrified, for the first time in his life, that this can’t last.

**

Gordon realizes that he’s in too deep when Magnum’s past makes a surprise reappearance and Gordon gets a call from Rick to let him know that Magnum’s been kidnapped.

“What do you mean, kidnapped?!” Gordon can’t help the tight note of worry in his voice, but he hopes Rick is too upset to notice.

“Yeah, man, they found his car. Could you check on some traffic lights for us?”

At least that gives him something to do. Gordon feels restless, hates sitting at his desk, so far removed from the worried hub of those closest to Magnum that he could hear in the background of Rick’s call. It drives home how affected he is by all this – how scared he is to potentially lose Magnum – and how he is an outsider, an afterthought, and a resource rather than a friend.

**

_“Magnum! Get back here, you dumb son of a bitch!”_

There is a slight stiffening of Higgins’ spine next to him, a shift of muscles, a new understanding even through all the adrenaline. She knows.

**

“Gordon!”

Marjorie Kamaka gives him a small wave from their table at the most expensive French restaurant in town and stands up to greet him as he makes his way over to her.

“Marjorie. I’d ask how you’ve been, but I know how much you hate small talk,” Gordon says, pushing her chair in for her and settling down on the opposite side of the table. Her sharp eyes take in his face, and Gordon feels unsettled but resigned, fully aware of what he’s signed up for.

“And I know how much you hate formal places like this. He must be something special,” Marjorie says, bringing her wine glass to her lips to not at all hide a mischievous smile. Gordon sighs and flicks open the menu, settling on the cheapest option and motioning for the _maître d’_.

Marjorie clears her throat and sets her wine glass down.

“He’s a pain, that’s all,” Gordon says, adjusting his tie, and then lays his fingertips on his cutlery. He tries his best to maintain eye contact with Marjorie’s knowing gaze, but he’s finding it difficult.

“I think he’s a little more than a pain. You’re here, aren’t you?” Marjorie says, her tone suddenly gentle as she reaches across the table and takes his hand. Gordon lets her, curling his fingers around hers in response, and smiles resignedly at her. Marjorie nods, squeezes his hand and lets go, back to business.

“So tell me.”

**

The realization that he’s looking at all that’s left of Ralph, of all that’s left of _Stanley_ , rises in his chest like a sudden tsunami, like a howling whirlwind of grief that grips him, makes him forget his quiet happiness at having Magnum call him directly, his slight irritation at the sheen of tacky sweat on his skin. It overpowers him, and the next thing he knows, Magnum is catching up to him, calling his name softly, gripping his elbow.

“Hey, hey, let me look at that,” he says, and Gordon stifles the half-wild desire to turn and bury his face in Magnum’s neck, hold him close and sob until he’s spent. Magnum’s fingers are gentle as they strip the glove from Gordon’s right hand and roll up his sleeve, and all he can do is stare numbly, drowning in this sudden sense of loss. Magnum gives an exaggerated wince, closes an anchoring and warm ( _so warm_ ) and calloused and steady hand around Gordon’s aching wrist and tugs.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital.”

**

He doesn’t want Magnum to see that he’s rubbed off on Gordon in more ways than one, so he tries to keep Magnum out of the loop on his investigation into Stanley’s last case. He really should have known better.

Magnum is a sparkling, teasing ball of bright energy in his house, his hands wandering, plucking at every curio and photo, while his eyes are full of sympathy and his mouth asks questions as he inserts every inch of his presence into Gordon’s quiet, private space. He leaves the photo frames unsettled and smudged, glides his fingers across case folders, and Gordon’s kitchen table has a ring of condensation on it for the first time in a long, long while from a beer bottle opened and left half full.

Gordon feels a new kind of sickening trepidation, a terrifying hope, lift its ugly, unwelcome head at how the word _partners_ rolls off Magnum’s tongue.

**

Gordon knew he shouldn’t have read too much into Magnum’s gentle warmth, his easy presence in Gordon’s house, his warily happy surprise at having Gordon come to his rescue like an attack dog that’s actually on his side. After all the evasiveness, the horribly unconvincing attempt at feigning surprise when Gordon called Magnum to tell him it was _Hannah_ (just the thought of her turns Gordon’s stomach even though he never got the details, he never does, it’s always _I’ll tell you later, later, never_ ), and the three increasingly frantic texts he sent to Magnum that went unanswered, Gordon is done.

He feels dejected and disappointed, feels something churn behind his breastbone, and for the first time in a while, he realizes how badly his life has gone off the rails since he met Magnum. It’s time to rein it all back in and forget. That way is safer. He’s done this before.

“I’ll earn your trust back.”

 _Yeah, I’d like to see you try, but you won’t_ , is what he doesn’t say.

**

Gordon allows himself to wallow for a week, even takes a few days off work to drink one beer after another while staring at the boxes of files he stole from Stanley’s garage. No one’s come for them yet, which he figures is a quiet blessing, but their dusty lids (even those striped with meandering paths left behind by Magnum’s roving fingertips) are starting to feel accusatory.

 _You get to rest but we don’t_.

After two days of sulking in his boxers with a beer in hand – on a Friday evening that brings slight relief from the oppressive heat and humidity – Gordon opens the first box.

**

The victim is a boy, Max Kalauani, who is ( _was_ ) about the same age as Gordon’s son. His face looks up at Gordon from two photos. In one of them, the boy is smiling warily at the camera with downcast eyes from under a mop of curly hair, while in the other, the boy’s eyes are fully visible but milky, his skin cast with the pallor of death, his mouth left open in a last, futile gasp. He was bludgeoned to death in an alleyway, time of death in the middle of the school day. He was found with his pants rolled down, his shirt loose, his arms tucked in close after ten hours had passed from when he should have come home.

Gordon reads through the case file, isn’t terribly surprised to learn that leads fizzled out quickly. Bad part of town, remote location, time of day making sure no one saw anything. The victim’s cell phone was never recovered and never pinged another cell tower again. He had very few friends, Gordon notes, and no girlfriend that he can tell. Survived by a grieving mother and father.

He picks up his cell phone.

**

Gordon doesn’t know why he’s genuinely surprised to see Magnum sitting at the Kalauanis’ kitchen table, his fingers steepled in front of his soft mouth, an easy tilt to his head, and a glint in his eye. Max’s mother gestures for Gordon to sit next to Magnum, who scoots over with a nod of acknowledgement.

“I’d ask, but I don’t want to know,” Gordon says, flips open a notepad, and brings out his pen.

“It’s kinda funny, actually,” Magnum says and smiles at him.

(Max was killed by an online date gone wrong – by a slick, unrepentant frat boy with a million-dollar smile and an appetite for lonely, beautiful nerds. Magnum finds him through a liberal application of the frankly terrifying amount of resources he has at his disposal and roughs him up just a little before Gordon makes the arrest.

Gordon looks the other way.)

**

They work their way through another three boxes before Gordon lets Magnum into his house again.

**

They are on their sixth box, which they have been intermittently working on for three weeks now, during lulls in police work and between Magnum’s various assignments. Gordon finds it easy to work with Magnum now because the man is has dialed it down, flashing fewer flirty smiles, and actually gives this case his entire attention when he can. (Gordon thinks he’s doing a good job of pretending he doesn’t feel a constant, low ache in his gut whenever Magnum is near, but he’s not sure.)

“Man, we’re getting nowhere,” Magnum says one night after they’ve gone over the details of the case and their investigation so far for the millionth time.

“There must be something, right? But we’re just not seeing it,” Magnum says, rubbing at his eyes, a bottle of now-warm beer forgotten at his elbow. He crosses his arms on the table and lays his head down, the picture of a sulky teenager in a thirty-something body, and snorts at Gordon.

“I don’t understand how you’re not climbing the walls already,” Magnum says, rolling his forehead along his forearms, a visible tenseness in his shoulders, in the slope of his curving back.

“Is this what you do all day? Sit there in silence and brood until the answer comes to you?” Magnum asks, the teasing lilt working its way back into his voice as he picks up his head and looks at Gordon with a tentative smile. Gordon is suddenly struck by the disarray of the soft tufts of Magnum’s hair, the sheen of sweat that glistens on his forehead, and the fullness of his ( _stupid_ ) cupid’s bow mouth, and Gordon can’t do anything but stare at Magnum for what feels like a small eternity of comfortable silence between them.

“Get out,” Gordon says evenly. Magnum blinks at him, jerking his head back a little in surprise.

“What?”

“We’re not going to get anywhere tonight. Go home and get some sleep,” Gordon says, and he stands up from where he’d been slouching on a kitchen chair all evening, feeling tacky with the sweat that has built up on the back of his neck, on the small of his back, down his front all evening as the warmth of it had gradually transitioned into the not at all cooler humidity of the night. He reaches for the papers to gather them up and put them away for later.

Magnum reaches out and closes his hand around Gordon’s wrist.

Gordon breaks.

**

Magnum’s lips are as soft as they look, and he’s an eager, experienced kisser. He eventually lets go of Gordon’s wrist to run both palms up Gordon’s chest, down his arms, and then around his waist, where he grips the fabric of Gordon’s pineapple-patterned button-up shirt and pulls it out of his pants.

Gordon bites at Magnum’s lower lip, leaving it glistening and wet, plump from all the attention. He closes his hand around the back of Magnum’s neck like he’s wanted to for so, so long, and there’s a languid fire burning in Magnum’s gaze, a sloe-eyed promise of _more, yes, right now_. Gordon carefully thumbs at Magnum’s mouth, his whole world narrowing down on how Magnum’s lips part obediently.

“I… I’m sorry,” Gordon manages to whisper, but Magnum shushes him with a tender kiss to his thumb, grabs him by the shirtfront and takes him to the bedroom.

**

It turns out that Gordon’s body slots perfectly between Magnum’s powerful thighs, his thumbs in the divots of Magnum’s hips, his mouth over Magnum’s dusky nipples.

Gordon brings their cocks together, slick with sweat and precum, and works the both of them over until Magnum curves his beautiful, lean body and shudders, his mouth open on a groan.

**

Gordon expects Magnum to be gone by morning, but he wakes up to the smell of sugary pancakes and bitter coffee and to the sound of Magnum humming a silly pop song. Magnum gives him a smooch on his cheek and ruffles his hair just to annoy him.

(The pancakes are blueberry.

Magnum teases him about the lack of chocolate chips in his life.)

**

“It was the janitor!” Magnum yelps hours later, sticky with cum and sweat, his hair sticking up in a million directions, his mouth stained with blueberry juice and kiss-swollen, his neck and chest dotted with more than welcome bruises.

Gordon, who has not two seconds ago finished coming his brains out inside Magnum, lifts his drowsy head from Magnum’s chest and snorts.

**

Gordon is fine with keeping everything on the down low, with being Magnum’s little secret side piece, but Magnum walks up to him at the next barbecue Gordon actually goes to at Robin’s Nest, puts his hand on the small of Gordon’s back and kisses him ‘hello’ on the cheek.

Gordon has to bust down an illegal gambling ring that is ponying up cash and collecting winnings right in front of his eyes immediately afterwards.

(It also turns out that Higgins is a dirty cheat.)


End file.
